Cease and Desist (The IMA Book 4) (25 page)

“We have records of an unlicensed connection from a San Francisco IP address.”

This was a blatant lie. I'd rerouted my connection so it would look like I was from Serbia. Smirking, I said, “Are you sure it wasn't Kragujevac?”

Her face changed, briefly. The microexpression was so sudden, I'd barely registered the twitch of her facial muscles as they betrayed whatever emotion she was experiencing. But I thought I might know what it was. I thought it might be fear.

“Do you think you're clever?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

Cleverness had been my only weapon when I had been taken hostage by the IMA, and like a blade, I had honed my skills, sharpening them. I had changed a lot in three years — I was no longer the scared little girl who had cowered in her cell, subdued by the first threat of violence.

Whatever Adrian had told her about me, I wasn't what she was expecting. I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

As though reading my mind, she said, “Perhaps I should send for Mr. Callaghan. Perhaps then you would be more forthcoming.”

Definitely a bad thing.

“Forthcoming, yes,” I said, trying — rather unsuccessfully — to hide my fear. “Truthful, no. Torture is the least effective way of extracting information, or haven't you heard that statistic?”

“Maybe we just want to see you suffer,” she said, in the same hard voice as before. “You have done untold damage to this organization, Miss Parker. You owe us a blood debt.”

I was shaken.
Blood debt
. What a terribly apt turn of phrase. “Are you a sadist, too?”

That gave her pause.

“All right,” she said. “So you managed to create a dummy IP address in Serbia. You still stole confidential information from our organization. Is that the gist of it, or am I forgetting something?”

I said nothing.

“We know you and Mr. Boutilier didn't work alone. One of our agents disappeared shortly before your AMI reared its head. And Mr. Callaghan suddenly found himself unable to locate one of his own personal contacts around the same time.”

“But you have no proof.”

“We're about to.”

She must have signaled someone, somewhere, because the door opened — and I tensed, God help me, because I thought she had followed up on her threat to summon Adrian. She hadn't, although I could tell from her smirk that she knew exactly why I had flinched, and she was relishing how the tables had turned on me so swiftly. No, the man she had called was another IMA guard, indistinguishable from the rest, except that he had a long black case.

I knew what cases like that were for. They contained needles. “What are you doing?” My voice sounded a little high. “What is that?” I was deathly allergic to opiates. Were they going to kill me now by inducing anaphylactic shock?

“A mix of potent barbiturates,” she said. “In layman's terms, a truth serum.”

Not opiates, then, but just as bad. They weren't going to kill me; they were going to make me talk. I jerked my arm away, aimed a kick at the guard's groin. He jerked his hips aside and knocked me to the floor with a blow to my head that made my ears ring.

Over the tintinnabulation, and the imminent dizziness that followed, I felt the pain of the needle entering my neck. Not my arm, my
neck
. She wanted this to hurt. Jesus. She
was
a sadist.

“You haven't had anything to eat or drink in days. It should be metabolized fairly quickly.”

“Go to hell,” I told her.

“We're already here,” she said. “At least, you won't know the difference.”

The guard didn't leave. Looked like more than one person was going to be present for my humiliation. I blinked, and my eyelids seemed to weigh five pounds.

My interrogator had been right. The drug was quickly taking effect on my vulnerable metabolism
.
Far too quickly.
What is this? What acts so fast?

The only warning was a sudden mental fog, as dense and thick as the cloud fortress that often ensconced San Francisco on cold and humid days. My thoughts crawled along as slowly as honey being drizzled from a cold spoon, fuzzy and indistinct. Reality blurred, its edges fuzzing, becoming less delineated, less clear, less obvious — and I was terrified, and yet, numb.

Fear and numbness are not mutually exclusive. You might think that the one would cancel out the other, but instead the numbness creates a void that gives the fear a place to expand in place of all the other absent emotions. Rationalism and intellect had no place here, only terror —

Terror, and that horrible, widening expanse of emptiness.

(I feel nothing now.)

Chapter Twenty

Answers

Subject Interrogation #002986

Subject name: Christina Maria Parker

Interrogator: Ellen Sterling

[Subject dosed with 10mg/kg of soporaxine.]

[ES] For our records, can you confirm that you

are Christina Parker?

[CP] Yes.

[ES] And that you are a computer hacker?

[CP] I'm more of a cracker. Hacking just refers

to someone who is good at code. Cracking is the

act of dismantling or breaking code, usually for

criminal purposes.

[ES] By your own admission, are you calling

yourself a criminal?

[CP] I said usually. There are always exceptions.

[ES] How did you get into our mainframe?

[CP] Easy. [Redacted — Grade 1 Clearance]

[ES] And did you steal data from the IMA?

[CP] It wasn't stealing. The information I took

was purchased with human lives.

[ES] And that's your idea of justice?

Vigilantism?

[CP] What else is there?

One minute pause.

[ES] But you weren't working alone. Michael

Boutilier was working with you. Let the records

show that this is the same Michael Boutilier

who was taken into captivity alongside subject.

ES approaches subject.

[ES] Who else was working with you?

[CP] No —

ES slaps subject.

[ES[ Who else was working with you?

[CP] Three others. I can't…I can't say…

[ES] Inject her again. Now.

Subject is injected with a second dose of soporaxine.

[ES] Christina, we're waiting.

[CP] Cliff Cordova and Suraya…Suraya I can't

remember her last name. And Angelica — I

don't know her last name either.

[ES] Cliff Cordova was under contract with the

IMA, wasn't he?

[CP] He brought me in to Adrian back when he

was under the IMA's employ, yes. He used to be

partners with the Sniper.

[ES] And Suraya also worked for the IMA.

[CP] Is that why you did what you did to her?

[ES] I don't understand.

[CP] Ask your boss.

[ES] The one you planned on killing.

[CP] I didn't tell you about that.

[ES] You just did.

[CP] You've been talking to the Albanians.

[ES] What Albanians?

[CP] [Redacted — Grade 1 Clearance]

[ES] How did you hear about that?

[CP] You underestimate my capabilities.

[ES] You found that out through cracking?

[CP] Maybe. Or maybe you're not as good at

covering your tracks as you think you are.

[ES] Do you have proof of any of this?

[CP] Are you afraid? You should be. I'm not a

scared little girl anymore.

[ES] You should be more forthcoming,

Christina. You hold your life in your hands.

[CP] Don't pretend for a second that you ever

had any intention of letting me live.

[ES] Adrian Callaghan offered you amnesty.

[CP] He wanted to own me.

[ES] Explain.

[CP] He didn't just want a computer hacker. I

mean, cracker. He wanted a whore. That

amnesty was contingent  upon letting him hurt

me as much as he wanted, and there was no

guarantee that he wouldn't decide to renege

like he did with Michael. When Adrian

Callaghan gets tired of  someone, they tend to

disappear in unpleasant circumstances….

[ES] What bargain did he cut with Michael?

[CP] At one point, Adrian told Michael that my

continued safety depended on his reenlisting with

the IMA. [Redacted — Grade 1 Clearance]

[ES] This caused you to conspire against him?

[CP] He's a monster. Do you really not see it?

[ES] Answer the question.

[CP] Yes. We decided to end him, for good.

[ES] You also shot him in the leg.

[CP] I wish I'd killed him.

[ES] Do you fear him?

[CP] Of course I fear him. I still have

nightmares about him. He's completely insane.

[ES] What about Michael? Does he fear him?

[CP] Oh God…I…yes, I think so. More than

anything. He'll do anything to — to —

Subject starts retching.

[ES] Christina?

[CP] I don't feel good.

[ES] What were you saying about Adrian?

[CP] I don't remember.

[ES]
Reading from last line.
You said he'd do

anything to — ?

[CP] He'll do anything to cause pain. He once

told me that there were different kinds of

suffering, and he knew them all. He enjoyed

matching people to their worst fears.

[ES] What's your worst fear, Christina?

[CP] Adrian Callaghan.

Michael

I had been in a lot of fights, but few had been as one-sided as this: the white padded room looked like a crime scene, with enough blood spatter to make a forensic investigator cream his pants. The coppery tang of it hit my nostrils. It was all mostly mine.

I wasn't completely helpless. Even with my hands cuffed I'd managed to get in a few impressive hits in, but nothing too serious. Nothing
deadly
.

So we danced, and I managed to dodge a number of blows until I'd been knocked supine, and this time, I couldn't get up fast enough. My attacker had only gotten up and left when he made sure I couldn't get up at all.

I tried to curl upright but a fiery pain spread across my middle and changed my mind, same as before.
I hope it's not fucking hemorrhaging
, I thought.
Jesus Christ.

It struck me that I'd been getting beat up pretty bad whenever I went on a mission these days. Nearing the upper-limits of my prime. I was almost thirty. I could no longer do the things that I could do when I was twenty. I was starting to make mistakes that could kill me.

And if I wasn't real fucking careful, they would.

They already have. You're here, aren't you?

The door opened, and I craned my neck to see who it was.  A man in a charcoal gray suit. A very tall —
oh fuck
.

I squared my shoulders and managed to levy myself to a sitting position by concentrating a small burst of force in my burning gut. Pain screamed through my midsection as I shot back up to a sitting position, but I didn't care. It was better than lying like a gutted trout.

Callaghan
was
in his thirties, now, and had finally started to show it. Not a lot, but enough. A bit of gray hiding among the brown at his temples. New lines on that death's head mask he called a face.

I hoped I was responsible for some of those. I liked the idea of making the bastard lose sleep.

“Here we are,” he said. “It's been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” He was alone. Cocky bastard hadn't brought in a single guard with him.
Because he doesn't want witnesses?
“You here to interrogate me?”

“I have Christina for that.”

The words were intended to cut and they did, far deeper than any blade. “Why? She knows nothing.”

“We both know that's not true,” the bastard pointed out. “She knows plenty.”

“Not as much as I do.”

“She knows enough. You made that girl dangerous, Michael. You could have disappeared off the face of the earth, and instead you chose to stick around and bait me, and you got her to help you do it. Well — ” he smiled “ — I'll bite.”

Damn it. “What did you do to her?”

Callaghan blinked. “Nothing.”

“You're a fucking liar.”

“She might have gotten a little roughed up, perhaps, but I'm sure even you would find her present condition acceptable.” He glanced at me. “Or perhaps not. In any case, hardly any harm at all has befallen your girl.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You should. We got her to talk with drugs instead of violence. You should thank me, Michael.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Of course, that could still change,” he mused. “We might decide that there is a possibility we overlooked something that could be of vital importance.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed loudly.

Callaghan studied his fingers. “We might decide —
I
might decide — that a firmer touch is necessary.”

I thought about speaking, but checked the impulse. He was trying to provoke me into saying something revealing. It was possible he was trying to supplement whatever Christina had told him with a slip-up from me.

It was also entirely possible that he was just toying with me. The hunt was over, and he wanted it to last, so he was attempting to prolong this as much as he could.

From a cold, logical perspective, the right answer was obvious: say nothing, give him nothing. But I could no longer claim to be emotionally detached.

I drew in a painful breath. “What do you want?”

Because he wouldn't have come in here if he didn't want something. Adrian Callaghan didn't do anything that wasn't a means to his own ends.

“I planned on having her tortured later. When her guard was down. She was rather unapologetic in the interrogation, you know. Regretted that she hadn't been able to do more damage than she had. That's rather implicating, wouldn't you say?”

“You already knew she hated you.”

“No, I don't think so,” he said. “That's part of it, but this goes beyond hatred. I think I frighten her, Michael. I rather think she's afraid I'm going to turn her into something she hates, so she turns that hatred outward, onto the most convenient target — me.”

“Or she hates you because you killed her mother,” I said. “Or because you nearly beat her to death. Or because you tried to rape her.”

“So did you,” Callaghan said. “And it got you the girl, didn't it, in the end? What does that say about society, I wonder, that the rapist gets a happy ending?” He paused. “Well, maybe not so happy.”

“For fuck's sake — ”

“Christina said many telling things that could get her into a lot of trouble. Branded herself as both a traitor and a loose cannon. I don't think any of my men would blink if I made her uncomfortable. However —” he gave me another slow look “— I could be persuaded to spare her the worst if you gave yourself up in her stead.”

“You said you have all the information you need.”

“Not for information, Michael.”

My skin crawled. I found myself recalling the phone call he'd made.
I could even rape you, too.

“Why? You aren't gay.”

And he wasn't. Sexuality existed on a continuum, and Callaghan was living completely off the grid.

“Because I want to be the one to break you.”

This had some ring of the truth to it. Even when we had been equals, there had been something sharp and jagged between us, as lethal as the business end of a knife. When it became clear that I might be the better of the two of us, he had tried to kill me — and he had failed.

It was that failure, more than anything else, that rankled, I imagined. Every day, he had to live with the knowledge that he'd had the chance to eliminate his biggest obstacle and save himself years of strife, and he had been too amateurish to carry it out.

I wished I could have said I was surprised. I wasn't. In a way, it had always been leading up to this. He saw me as a threat, and he thought this would put me in my place. It wasn't about attraction or sex, but control —

And fear.

I maintained composure. “Why me?”

“You have a reputation. And that reputation is costing me men. It's costing me business deals. It's costing me partnerships.” It also must have cost
him
, to admit even this much.  “There are far too many out there who see you as a Robin Hood character, killing the bad guys to save the good, and I can't have that.”

“You want to use me as an example.”

“It's good to know you're not as stupid as you act.”

I ignored that. “Why offer me this deal? What's in it for you, when you could simply take what you wanted and have done with it?” It wasn't like him, to be making deals when the other side had no leverage to speak of.